u/Daliah_Sweet

So this novel is my baby, I started it in grad school and have been chipping away at it for years. I’ve hit a point where I have a big decision to make. When I first started, my instinct told me to write it from a 3rd person limited perspective, I’ve been looking at the landscape of the genre and it appears that MOST readers prefer first person and it could be argued that this book would benefit greatly if I shifted. The story is relationship oriented and doesn’t world build like most 3rd person stories. But I would have to rewrite the entire novel. Is it worth the perspective shift?

Cowboy Story - NAME TO BE DETERMINED
\~ DALLAS \~

The sun was setting behind Dallas. Tired and dusty from the western dirt that spun in the air around him, he had been travelling for days, on pilgrimage going somewhere he hadn’t yet discovered. All he knew is the unknown somewhere was better than what he had left behind. It was complete happenstance for him to spot a small oasis in what felt like a green and orange tinted desert.

A small farmhouse, no more than 100 yards away, a single lamp lit inside. Such a place would have gone unnoticed in the dark. He didn’t want to be a bother and thought of continuing on his way. Then he looked down at, Jasper, his chestnut colored horse and knew the boy was due for a much needed break and hopefully some water. As Dallas drew close enough to the house to make out the yellow daisies on the porch, the lone light dimmed until it was out. Someone was home, and it didn’t look like they were looking for company.
Dallas dismounted from his loyal horse, holding the saddle rope in his hand as he led the horse closer to the house. He just wanted a place to sit for a few moments and then be on his way. He spotted a well on the left side of the porch.

Instead of approaching the door, he walked to the well and began drawing water. The well itself looked weathered, the handle of the wheel was chipped and the rope had started to fray, clearly in need of changing.

It took a lot of turns of the wheel for the bucket to find water. The well was getting low. Dallas reckoned it had maybe a year, a year and a half, before it ran dry. He pulled the bucket up and tipped half of the water back down the well before allowing his horse to drink. A small noise caught Dallas’ attention.

“Hello?” He called out. No answer.

Dallas figured whatever animal seemed to be lurking around was bound to make itself known, and maybe when it did, he could eat it for dinner. He went back to tending to Jasper, and noticed the slight tremor in his front leg. They had been traveling for days and even he could admit that they could use a rest.

“That ain’t yours!” A voice called out. Dallas turned to the door of the farmhouse, it was open and there was nothing but darkness inside.

“Howdy,” Dallas tapped the brim of his hat “My apologies, I was just looking to-”

“I said that ain’t yours!” They repeated. The voice was young. It was a boy, maybe 14 or 15.

“Is your mom and pop here, boy?” Dallas called back. The boy was silent for a moment.

“No, but they will be here soon so you best git!” It was clear the boy was trying to deepen his voice to sound tough, intimidating. Dallas smirked, he could respect him for trying to defend his

homestead while his parents were away, but there was very little he could do in this situation. The boy may act tough, but Dallas was a heck of a lot tougher.
“
……… [additional dialogue]

He wore a coat that was both too large and too warm for the late summer weather. His face was covered by a red bandana like a bandit. Dallas had seen his fair share of bandits, and this boy couldn’t pass for one. Now why was he covering his face in his own home? Dallas lingered on the thought until the metal in the boys hands caught the light of the fading sun. A double barreled shotgun. Dallas went wide eyed when the boy pointed the rifle in his direction. He slowly lifted his hands in the air.

“Now, boy. I am going to ask you one time to put that gun down.” Dallas growled. He wasn’t one to take a threat lightly, regardless of who or what age was on the other side of that threat. The boy had hard enough time lifting the gun up while their sleeves weighed on their arms. Dallas wasn’t afraid of being shot and killed, that fear was snuffed out a long time ago. He was afraid of an accidental maiming by an inexperienced gunman who probably couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.

“And I am going to ask YOU one more time. Kindly get the hell off of my property!” The boys voice got higher as he shouted. Jasper always had a sixth sense for danger and pointing that gun at his owner set him off into a stomping frenzy.

“Jasper, woah easy!” Dallas tried to calm his horse while keeping eye contact with the boy. Jasper lifted up onto two legs and (like jerked toward) the boy on the porch before Dallas could get ahold of him.

A loud shot rang out. In a moment, Dallas leaped up to the porch, filled with rage. He could accept if the bullet had hit him, but if this little bastard managed to harm his horse, hell would be paid.
The force from the shotgun sent the boy jolting back into the door with no time to recover before Dallas loomed over him. The wooden stairs of the porch bent under his foot, creaking loudly with each step. He grabbed the boy by the wrist and squeezed until the gun thudded onto the floor. Dallas kicked the gun away with the back of his leather boot. With little effort he hoisted the boy up by his wrist until he could barely balance himself on his toes.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” He snarled.

“You think you’re tough? Think you’re a big man pointing a gun at someone?”

“Let go of me!” The boy cried out, gone all the bravado in his voice. Dallas surveyed for any damage that this (mean name for boy) might have caused. He sighed in relief when Jasper still standing. Just as he thought, the boy was a shit shot.

By the time Dallas turned his attention back to his shouting captive, a fist was pounding against his chest. It was every bit as weak as the wrist trapped in his grip.

Why would a father leave a boy like this alone out here? Dallas thought back to when he was this age. He had been fending form himself for years by then, but he was nowhere near as weak, with a deeper voice and a better shot at that.

The boy’s hand darted toward the revolver at Dallas’s hip. Dallas caught his wrist before his fingers reached the grip and wrenched his arm sharply behind him.

“Are you stupid, boy?” Dallas snarled. “You could get yourself killed reaching for another man’s six-shooter.”

The boy looked in a full panic. Dallas released him with an unceremonious shove, sending him tumbling to the ground. His hat fell away, and the bandana covering his face slipped loose, dropping around his neck.

Dallas froze.

Pale blue eyes stared up at him from a delicate, terrified face.

No boy stared back at him.

\~ Caroline \~
The figure I saw up on the hill was getting closer.
I quickly put out the lamp I left by the sill and waited. Normally, I knew better than to leave a light burning beside an uncovered window after sundown. But those damn coyotes had been after my chickens for weeks, and I couldn’t shoot what I couldn’t see.

I didn’t know if it were a man when I first spotted him, but as the figure got closer, there was no two ways about it. Maybe he didn’t see the light, maybe he will see there ain’t nothing to be had here and move on. After a few moments, I peeked out my window and- That son-of-a-bitch is stealing my water!

Just like I had practiced, I opened the dresser by the door and pulled out a red handkerchief. I pressed my face close to the mirror on the wall and carefully tied the bandana around my head, making sure my hair was tucked under my shirt.
I made my way to the coat hanger and picked up an old hat the much too large winter coat. When I pulled on the coat, a wave of dust flew into my face. Damn dust! I didn’t have enough time to stop the sneeze. I grabbed my mouth and pinched my nose to stop another impending sneeze.

These measures were only a precaution if I ever failed to go unnoticed by any passersby, but now my cover was blown. The man outside knew someone was home. I took a steady breath and with the shotgun I kept by the entrance, I open the door quietly. I take one more deep breath. Just scare him off. I attempted the lowest, man like, voice I could muster; trying my best to sound just like Clayton.

“That ain’t yours!”